Classic Poem

Fierce Turnus first to nearer distance drew,
And poiz'd his pointed Spear before he threw:
Then, as the winged Weapon whiz'd along;
See now, said he, whose Arm is better strung.
The Spear kept on the fatal Course, unstay'd
By Plates of Ir'n, which o're the Shield were laid:
Thro' folded Brass, and tough Bull-hides it pass'd,
His Corslet pierc'd, and reach'd his Heart at last.
In vain the Youth tugs at the broken Wood,
The Soul comes issuing with the vital Blood:
He falls; his Arms upon his Body sound;
And with his bloody Teeth he bites the Ground.
Turnus bestrode the Corps: Arcadians hear,
Said he; my Message to your Master bear:
Such as the Sire deserv'd, the Son I send:
It costs him dear to be the Phrygians Friend.
The lifeless Body, tell him, I bestow
Unask'd, to please his wand'ring Ghost below.
He said, and trampled down with all the Force
Of his left Foot, and spurn'd the wretched Corse:
Then snatch'd the shining Belt, with Gold inlaid;
The Belt Eurytion 's artful Hands had made:
Where fifty fatal Brides, express'd to sight,
All, in the compass of one mournful Night,
Depriv'd their Bridegrooms of returning Light.
In an ill Hour insulting Turnus tore
Those Golden Spoils, and in a worse he wore.
O Mortals! blind in Fate, who never know
To bear high Fortune, or endure the low!
The Time shall come, when Turnus , but in vain,
Shall wish untouch'd the Trophies of the slain:
Shall wish the fatal Belt were far away;
And curse the dire Remembrance of the Day.